


Decisive

by phsfgg



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Just siblings being siblings in hell, Siblings that murder creeps together stay together, Sleepy siblings are sleepy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-12 02:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15329355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phsfgg/pseuds/phsfgg
Summary: The Fog brings new experiences for old relationships.(A Dabble Dump)





	1. Masks

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted a place to store my short stories, I’m still new to writing fics but I really love both Laurie and Myers so I tried :P This one is a kinda old one, so figured I'd break the seal of this account with it haha
> 
> Hope to add more to this short series, and I hope you like it!

Laurie Strode wasn’t one to get impatient. Dealing with kids on an almost daily basis and maintaining some semblance of sanity was a testament to the deep pit that was Laurie’s patience.

That being said, hearing a constant stream of babble and “why” questions kids seemed to have a non-stop quantity of, was almost preferable to the dead silence she heard from her brother. She was used to being the one that had to listen, she liked it even. Being the one that had to solely carry out a conversation wasn’t her forte.

“So that’s why I like knitting.” She awkwardly finished her one sided conversation with Michael, who was just sitting next to her, twirling the sharp kitchen knife in his hand.

Before her current situation, she would in no way have ever let Michael near her, much less hold a sharp object while near her. But things had changed, she and a dozen others were trapped in a hellscape, and when life forces people into weird circumstances without giving them an out, one could find themselves doing the unexpected.

Not to say she was right on board with interacting with the killers in this realm; really, no ‘survivor’ was. But as time gradually passed, each side grew more curious, making interaction in the free range between trials almost inevitable.

Funnily enough, between trials was on the verge of normal, or as normal as it could be. Meanwhile the trials were like jobs, something they had to still do to find their way out of here. Laurie didn’t know if the Entity wanted them to feel like it wasn’t hopeless to get the killers to stop working for it or if it just didn’t care, but she was just glad now that she could relax somewhat between trials.

She and Michael had strictly been on 'interact in trials only' rules. At least...she had tried to enforce that; even when killers started to be seen more often by the campfire. It was harder to enforce when he seemed so normal now. He didn’t try to kill any of them outside of the trials.

Whether he got his fill during the trials or the entity scrubbed that feature out of him entirely, it was a mystery to everyone. But when you took out the homicide, he was too human for Laurie to write off completely.

Laurie looked around the campfire at the other survivors and killers milling about. The killers seemed to have their own favorite survivors, sticking around them or the other killers.

Of course, that meant Michael and her spent a lot of time together when they were both at the campfire, Michael trailing like a lost puppy behind Laurie wherever she went. Annoyed at first, she quickly realized he was a good shield between her and the other killers that she still didn’t want much to do with while also just accepting he wasn’t going to brutally murder her out here.

Laurie spotted Nea with the Huntress across the fire, each tossing sticks into it, seeing who could throw the farthest. Anna--The Huntress-- had placed her mask on a nearby log, showing her pitch black eyes and chopped hair to the world. Anna noticed Laurie's gaze, and flashed her a smile as she launched a large branch into the fire.

“Why don’t you ever take your mask off?” Laurie blurted out, curious as to why Michael chose to hide his face away when everyone else at the campfire had shown theirs. She knew that she wouldn’t get an answer, obviously it was a specific choice on Michael's part, perhaps even asking why would make him angry...

“I just mean...everyone else takes their mask off… but if you don’t want to you don’t have to. It’s perfectly fine to have the mask on.” Laurie explained, finally looking at Michael to see him gazing at her, head tilted to the side. Laurie read it as **'That’s a stupid question, Laurie.'** and she sighed, agreeing with her brother’s imagined response.

“Sorry.” Laurie looked at the ground, kicking at the dirt, already trying to think of new topics for the duo. Maybe they could join Nea and Ann-

Michael interrupted her thoughts with a tap on her shoulder, hand demanding she look up at him. Michael, sure now that he had Laurie’s full attention, moved to grasp the opening at the back of his mask, moving with purpose to lift the rubber and synthetic hair off and away.

Laurie sat there, in awe and anticipation for the first time she’d clearly see the man that was her brother. She distantly wondered if anyone else was paying attention, sure that this was a one time occurrence, but didn’t want to interrupt him to gather a crowd to witness. They would just have to suffer never knowing if they didn’t see him now.

Dusty blonde hair similar to her own was the first feature revealed, a stark contrast to the dark brown of the Halloween mask. Laurie was practically vibrating in her seat as the mask lowered, showing Michael’s face framed by wavy bangs.

He looked like a normal man, no facial scars, and stubble growing on his jaw. His face was shocking similar to her own facial structure; high cheekbones, strong chin, upturned nose and all. She would even go so far to admit that he was a good looking man, only adding fuel to her confusion on why he felt the need to cover his face at all times.

“Aw, you're handsome. Have to keep the mask on to keep the ladies away, huh?” Laurie smiled at Michael, lightly pushing his shoulder as she teased him. Michael rolled his grey eyes at Laurie, shocking her more than annoying her. It was a whole other experience actually seeing emotions on her brother’s face, and not having to read his responses solely on his head and shoulder movement.

“What? Tell me I’m wrong!” A flicker of a smile passed over Michael’s face, and he shook his head 'no' to her mild antics.

His trimmed hair stuck up oddly at the back of his head, where the mask had rested, making it kink up. Laurie instinctively reached out to smooth it down, an action she had done countless times to the kids she babysitted. By the time she realized that she was reaching out towards her mass murdering older brother to smooth out his hat hair like he was a small child under her care, she had already placed her hand on the top of his head, making them both freeze.

Laurie looked at Michael wearily, unsure what he would do because of the sudden touching. Michael only sat there looking into the campfire, before sinking his head lower, giving Laurie access to groom him without ever looking at her.

Hands slightly shaking, she carded her fingers through his tangled hair. Once she was sure he wouldn’t attack her, she went into full babysitter mode; licking her thumb to smooth down the combed through hair once she was finished.

“There, now you don’t look so messed up.” Laurie patted Michael’s head, signaling for him to sit up again, “A ladykiller like yourself has to clean up good-- get it? "ladykiller"?" Laurie joked, giving Michael an expectant grin, only to have it returned with Michael’s dead side-eye stare, making her frown.

“Holy shit-- who the fuck. Is that Myers?” Feng's voice interrupted Laurie’s comedy skit from where she was was walking towards the campfire, staring openly at the man.

“Yeah, and Laurie just went full mom mode on him.” Nea replied back, signaling that yes, not only had she witnessed Laurie groom the older man like he was a child but also that she would probably hold that over Laurie's head for the rest of her life.

Laurie glared at Nea over the fire, wishing she’d just shut up. To Laurie’s surprise, the glare seemed to do the trick, Nea turning pale and leaning back to look away from Laurie and Michael and mind her own business. Next to her, Anna just laughed loudly as the smaller girl shook.

“You two! You are just alike! It is mirror glare, very cute to see even though very frightening!” Anna chuckled, slapping Nea on the back. Laurie was a little disappointed to learn it was probably her brother’s glare that had shut Nea up and not her own. By this time, Feng and Anna’s outbursts had attracted the meandering survivors over.

Sighing, knowing their moment of bonding was ultimately over, Michael reached to put the mask back over his head. As disappointed as Laurie was, she knew it was a step towards…… something. Moments where they could act just as family should were moments savored, if only to be ripped away in trials where the human Michael was stripped and replaced by an emotionless husk.

Michael might not be completely normal, but that was okay, he was still her brother and cared when they were allowed to be people. It made Laurie wonder how different things could have gone back home, if she had been old enough to be there for him.

By the time other’s had wandered in, the white mask was firmly in place, hiding away already familiar features. She could feel his gaze on her, as if to say **‘Sorry but I’m not ready for everyone else to see too’**. She nodded and patted his back, hoping he knew that she wasn’t going to force the mask off of his head.

Feng seemed put out by his refusal to be gawked at, pouting at him and Laurie as they sat there. New comers who had been brought over by the commotion asked what happened, getting replies from Anna and Feng about Michael’s uncovered face.

Some scoffed at the duo’s claims, going back to their activities while others looked at Michael as if he would take it off again for their viewing. He was steadfastly ignoring any and all curious bystanders, staring into the fire and clutching the worn fabric of his overalls.

Laurie, sensing his growing agitation and anxiety, as much as she could from the extremely introverted man, took it upon herself to move away from the others, knowing Michael would follow her anywhere.

“Come on Michael, I want to go for a walk.” Laurie excused them from the group, walking quickly towards the foggy forest surrounding them. She didn’t have to look back to know Michael had got up and left behind her, trailing her to their destination.


	2. Clown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Clown is the new guy, and he doesn't quite understand the way things run around here, much to the disdain of Laurie.
> 
> Warnings: Clowns a foul mouthed creeper, there's mention of blood and gore (but not too detailed)

There was a system in the Fog. Not an official one mind you- but one that was understood nonetheless. That the Campfire was a neutral zone where ongoing during Trials did not reach. That Trials were the unspoken job of everyone, whether or not they liked it.

Most off not all were grateful for the peaceful truce, and others that were not; they could wander off on their own, giving the others room to socialize.

Only one or two killers would prefer to stay away, seeing survivors as lesser even at the Campfire where they mingled freely. But they wouldn’t- couldn’t attack them carelessly here. There were no Entity powers to fall back to, not to mention picking a fight with other killers who fancied survivors.

They might be able to take a survivor out, but not without incurring the wrath of an equal or stronger murder.

That being said, newcomers usually had to learn the hard way of the natural order of the Campfire.

Survivors like Quentin or Tapp were jumpy, watching with hawk-like eyes every twitch a killer near them made. It was to be expected, for them to learn to ignore the nagging caution at the back of their mind. Sometimes the survivors were more relaxed; on the surface at least. Kate fell into the latter category.

Kate seemed decent to Laurie, if not a little hot headed. But she had a joyful and honest air about her, letting Kate fit in easily with the others. She would joke and quickly accepted the killers would linger at the Campfire between trials.

The… man.. she brought with her though, was one person Laurie wish wouldn’t linger.

The blob of a man was sitting there, hacking up globs of spittle occasionally while staring at Laurie. He stared at all the girls, but when he was looking at her, she _knew_ he was looking. The unsettling black eyes roaming over her backside.

Ignoring it the best she could, Laurie would continue acting as if nothing was wrong, she had done it plenty times before the Fog. If she tried hard enough, she could even for-

"Well, well, well. What’re we got ‘ere.” Came a gargled voice near her. Laurie froze in place, hands stuck in the heathkit she was packing, kneeling on the hard earth.

Laurie didn’t answer as she gathered her thoughts, the rank smell filling her nostrils with each breath. That clown, he was standing closer than ever at the Campfire, uncomfortably close. Flashes of the mind-numbing gas he threw during trials filled her mind, and she stiffened where she kneeled.

“Just- Just packing a kit.” Her voice was strained, trying not to breathe in the putrid scent of his breath.

“Idn’t peg ya as a s-s-stuttering Stanley, girl.” Came his reply as Laurie stood up quickly.

Of course the clown would chose now of all times to approach her. She was alone once in a blue moon, both Jake and her brother off at a trial. The two people who would have scared the pig of a man away before he could even speak. Laurie could try, but she had the nagging suspicion that he didn’t have a high opinion on women’s rights.

“A bad habit.” Laurie says as she turns to face the man.

He’s uncomfortably close, Laurie gets a new wave of nausea every time he breathes his short, snorting breaths. His eyes are non-existent, blending seamlessly into the smeared clown makeup. His balding head reflects the bright moon and campfire burning behind him, contrasting how he blocks out the light while looming over Laurie.

“If you excuse me, I need to-“ She starts to sidestep around him. But she’s stopped by a musty hand he holds up in the direction she heads towards, blocking her.

“Ey, ‘m not done talking, girl.” Dribble hits her cheek. She focuses on her breathing as she lifts a hand to wipe the spit away. She always had the glass shard in her back pocket that she could u-

“Laurie, is it? A cute name.” He gives her a lopsided grin, flashing his rotten yellow teeth.

“Yep. That’s me.”

“Can’t help but notice, you ain’t got your…. bodyguards no more. Whas with that, Miss Laurie?” His smile stays fixed, and Laurie pretends to think, rocking on her heels while crossing her arms behind her back; she reaches slowly to the glass stored in her pocket.

“Guess they must be busy, is that all you wanted to ask?”

He chuckles, and Laurie feels her stomach churn. Her hand finally reaches back into her jeans pocket, and the smooth glass gives her a small comfort as her fingers curl around it.

“Heh. No no no- No I ain’t plannin’ to ask about anything else, I thinks.” Laurie hand tightens around the glass.

“Then do you mind? I’d like to go sit now.” She tilts her head to point behind him, trying to keep her hands casually hidden behind her back.

“Ya free to sit right ‘ere, lass.” His hand finally reaches over to where it was hovering to grasp Laurie’s arm. His fat fingers dig into her bicep, to the point Laurie is sure that there will be bruises.

Laurie doesn’t hear if he continues talking, mind focused on breaking his hold as her free hand rips out of her back pocket holding the shard of glass. Her world has narrowed down to three points, the crushing pressure on her arm, the broken glass cutting the meat of her palm where she grips it so tight her knuckles turn a ghostly white, and the fat folds hiding the thick neck of  the man in front of her; the target of her panic rage underneath.

She hears a guttural scream ringing at the back of her mind, the echo bouncing around as the glass shard finally becomes too slick to hold, slipping from her grasp. It doesn’t fall loose from where it’s embedded in the clowns throat despite the thick stream of red gushing around where it sticks out. Laurie distantly wonders how deep it had gotten.

She stands rigid, watching the man stumble backwards, clutching his throat in desperation. She isn’t sure she could move even if she wanted to.

The clown mouths something, blood pouring out and mixing with the usual slobber on his chin. But she hears nothing but her own harsh breaths, drowning out all outside noise.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, watching the man claw at his own throat, unable to grasp the slick and wet shard buried deep. He bleeds everywhere, his own front stained deep red. She watches his struggle silently, it’s almost satisfying seeing him grovel.

She only blinks when she sees another figure walk up behind the kneeling man, breaking her out of her shock. A sound forces a way out of her mouth, hurting her throat as if she hadn’t talked in years.

Michael stands behind the slowly dying man, tilting his head in question to Laurie. He had come from his own trial to only find Laurie standing covered in blood.

“He. He grabbed me.” Is all she can offer. Something bitter and metallic hits her tongue when she opens her mouth.

But Michael nods slowly, accepting the answer and stepping closer. His knife shines unnaturally bright as he shifts nearer, and Laurie hears for the first time the words that the clown was garbling out.

“Ph-Phuckin’ _bitch_ -“ He stops to cough up more blood, “Yure a _whore_ -“ cough- “Who needs a fu-“

It’s not a cough for more air that stops him from finishing his sentence this time, but rather Michael grabbing his ratty hair, forcing his head backwards with a pull. The clown trembles where he kneels, his own black orbs staring into up into the black eyes of Myers’ mask.

“O-Oh hey ‘ere, p-pal.” His voice sounds small, unlike the harsh vile he spoke with towards Laurie. Michael doesn’t greet him in return, twirling the kitchen knife in his hand.

“I was just- just sayin’ hi to yur sist-“ Michael raises the knife up in a flash, resting it against the exposed neck of the man. Michael taps the tip of the knife against the red stained shard sticking out, more blood trickling down his front.

“Hey…… now..” He pleads with a mouthful of blood.

“Shut up. Fucking shut up.” Laurie finally tells him, tired of hearing his pathetic begging. Her fists stay balled up at her sides, trembling with a mix of anger and fear. She doesn’t feel sympathy for the pig.

“You shut it you _whor_ -“ The knife joins the pitiful shard, cutting through the clowns throat like butter. The only sounds coming from him now is sad blubbering and gargles, as Michael keeps his hair firmly in his fist and the knife plunged deep.

“Mi-Michael. That’s… that’s enough. He’s dead for now.” Laurie says after what feels like hours after Michael stabs him. But she’s right, the man didn’t need to be completely bled dry to know he’s dead- at least for the time being.

He would be rebuilt- they all where- but that was another issue for later.

Michael stops with that, sliding the knife clean as the body falls limp on the ground. It lands with a dull thud, still. It would almost look as if he was sleeping, if not for the steady growing pool of blood forming around his fat neck.

Laurie feels herself rock forward for the first time since the encounter started, her legs shaky as she moves. She doesn’t go far though, only moving steps forward to lean against the nearby tree, using that to support her weight.

Michael moves at his usual leisurely pace towards her, while wiping the clown’s blood off of his knife to his clean overalls. He pushes the corpse with his foot as he walks by, unable to even budge the mass of a man.

Laurie stares at the ground, and soon enough Michael’s boots stand across from her loafers. Each speckled with wet stains.

“.....mfine.” Laurie mumbles to their feet, not wanting to look up to see the dead man lying on the ground. He might have deserved it, but that didn’t stop her stomach from heaving.

She feels a soft pressure on her cheek, realizing Michael’s using his free hand to comfort his near-in-tears sister. This causes Laurie to lift her gaze, if only to his shoulders.

His hand feels soft against her face, a stark contrast to the bruising grip of the clown on her arm. His thumb brushes through the drying blood, clogging up into a gooey mess.

“You’re fine.” Comes his quiet and slightly muffled voice from behind the mask, a rare occasion of him speaking, only to comfort Laurie. Laurie can’t do much but feel her eyes sting and nod.

Laurie scrunches up her face as he wipes the blood off, switching to using his sleeve cuff to finish the job. She only opens her eyes again when she feels the warmth from his hands leave, signaling that she was as clean as she was going to get.

She thanks him softly, to which he nods. She still refuses to look directly at the limp and cold body, but she does feel better. Enough to walk without any assistance. She gives the mound a wide berth as she moves, looking down at her once light blue button down- now soaked a deep crimson.

“Oh gross. I don’t know how you handle feeling so… sticky.” She says offhandedly to Michael as they walk. She’d have to borrow an extra pair of clothes from Meg or someone for the time being.

Michael pats his chest as if offended she would call him sticky of all things.

She gives a soft laugh, glad that there was some normalcy to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prompt sent to me "(emoji)- Wiping blood off their face. I was reading your one on AO3, and you mentioned that the other Killers were also friendly. However, what if a new Killer joined, such as the Clown? I can imagine he wouldn't 'get' it at first, and would try and attack someone- who just so happens to be Laurie. Cue Michael." 
> 
> Which I thought was pretty neat, and I tried my best :p  
> Also I'm not entirely sure how to tag this chapter because it's still pretty tame but I did turn up the creepy notches on the Clown, so I hope I gave enough warning!


	3. Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael reads a bedtime story.

Haddonfield was quiet, the soft blanket of the fall night covered over the suburban homes. Kids ushered in before the sun could set completely and the street lamps flickered on.

The Myers household was no exception, their three children tucked away inside for the night.

Michael, the middle child for three years now, brushed his teeth quietly, staring at his own reflection frothing at the mouth. He could hear the faint roar of the television downstairs, some kind of game show host talking to his live studio audience.

He found he liked those shows better than whatever channel told his parents news, but they were never better than early Sunday morning cartoons. Neither of his parents or his older sister bothered him when he watched them on Sunday, making him happy that his only company was himself. And an occasional addition.

Cynthia was Michael’s best friend. He was too quiet at school to gain affection from his peers, but too out of the way to gain the ire of bullies. He just- _was._ It didn’t bother him much, it meant he was left alone and didn’t have to hear the high pitched squabbles and whining from other six-year olds.

Cynthia though, even when she cried, it was for reasons understandable unlike everyone else. But more than often bubbling giggles came from her, along with broken half-sentences. She listened to Michael, and gave him attention when no one else would.

“Mikey, are you finished? It’s 9 o’clock.” Came his mother's voice from downstairs. She was probably the one watching the television.

Michael nodded before he realized she wasn’t there to see him, replying with a soft yes and spitting out the rest of the foam.

“You need to learn how to speak up.” He turned to see his sister outside the doorway, looking at him with a look he couldn’t figure out. It reminded him of what he probably looked like when a snot-nosed kid scraped their knee at recess. Judith turned to yell down the stairs, telling their mom that Michael was in fact finished and about to go to his own room for the night.

He didn’t bother saying anything back, wondering why he should have to yell to be paid attention to. He heard Judith scoff, and shuffle away, the click of a door closing behind her.

He thought he talked plenty, it wasn’t some kind of spectacle seeing him talk. He talked to his family, to his teacher, and to adults at the Church his parents sometimes brought him to. Judith was just noisy in his opinion, constantly chatting about something or other. He wish she’d shut up.

He spoke a soft goodnight to whoever was listening downstairs, receiving nothing in reply. Wouldn’t be the first time.

He shuffled his six-year old feet to his room, seeing the overhead light already flipped off and the nightlight filling the room.

“Hi boo.” He whispered when he entered, unknowing if the small girl was sleeping already. Cynthia was laying in the small child’s bed across from Michael’s own bed, both siblings both small enough to comfortably share their own room in the house.

Small toys littered the floor, a mix of Michael’s own cheap action figures and Cynthia’s battered Barbie dolls. Her stuffed animals would be found among them, if they weren’t piled as a wall on her bed; apparently it was one of those nights.

Her head turned to him first, then with a push she rolled over, the wall of plush animals tittering with the movement.

Her tired eyes seemed to brightened seeing Michael enter, a small toothy smile forming. She had recently grown in the last of her baby teeth, while Michael had ripped out one of his own loose baby teeth just weeks ago. Cynthia had been there to see him reach in to pry the wiggling tooth loose and screamed in shock when his hand emerged bloody. Michael had found it hysterical that Cynthia didn’t know teeth we’re supposed to fall out, and laughed while showing off his detached tooth. She had quickly gotten over it, only to smack his arm with her tiny baby fist in retaliation.

He smiled back, it was alway easier to smile around his favorite person.

“Mi-Mi, story?” She asked quietly, as if she didn’t want their parents hearing her talk.

“Did you stay up just for that.” He wasn’t surprised, more amused at the three-year olds antics. He watched her pull out the small picture book from under her unicorn covered sheets, hidden there before her parents put her asleep for the night an hour earlier.

She giggled and held the book out, knowing Michael couldn’t refuse her a bedtime story. She was the only one with him wrapped around her tiny chubby fingers.

He rolled his eyes as he sat next to her on the tiny bed, forcing her to scoot over to make room. She didn’t seem upset by that, only clutching to the Raggedy Ann doll tighter. Michael thought her bed was comfortably small, like a small space that was distinctly her own.

He looked at the book he had read what felt like a million times, the bright yellow text standing out against the red background, tiny bear in the middle with green overalls. He had it pretty much memorized by now, and the funny little voices he did for the bear down pat.

He quietly flipped the book open, feeling Cynthia next to him snuggle closer to his arm to peer up at the colorful pictures and blocky words. Michael wondered if she could read some of them yet, maybe one night he would have her try reading instead and help her along.

He read softly in the dim light of the room, Cynthia laying next to him listening intently and giggling at the character voices he used. He felt comfortable here, away from uncaring peers and uncaring parents, the room like their own little bubble away from everything. Cynthia never made him feel pressured, never told him he’s a freak for being quiet, never did anything but accept his weirdness.

Reaching the end of the story, he looks to check on the small girl next to him, seeing her eyes shut and breathing deeply. She must have fallen asleep somewhere near the end, the giggling becoming less frequent as he talked. She looked content even asleep, her blonde hair that was usually kept in tight pigtails covering part of her face and mouth hanging slightly open.

He doesn’t remember where he puts the book, following her example and shutting his heavy eyes, if only for a moment before he would trege to his own small bed at the other side of the room. Might as well be on the other side of the planet, figured Michael as he faded into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for "reading them a story"- that never specified who was reading to who :3c 
> 
> Sorry this ones a little shorter but updated chapter names yey! Next one will be longer, but figured I'd break up some rough patches with a bit of fluff.   
> It was fun to do it from Michaels POV, granted their tiny babies here but maybe I'll do another one with his POV- his mind is an enigma.


End file.
